


Everything I Know About Cross-Dressing I Learned From Firefly

by aldiara



Series: Everything I Need To Know I Learned From Fandom [4]
Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Characters Are in Fandom, Crossdressing, Dresses, Established Relationship, Firefly References, Fluff and Humor, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Lace Panties, M/M, Makeup, Mild Kink, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: Bram introduces Simon to his favorite show. Shenanigans ensue.





	Everything I Know About Cross-Dressing I Learned From Firefly

**Author's Note:**

> It helps if you've seen Firefly, but it's not a requirement. Unbeta’d, so feel free to point out any mistakes.

***

Zoë Washburne started it.

I mean, I guess Joss Whedon started it?

Actually, Bram Greenfeld started it. Bram Greenfeld of the soft lips and soccer-steeled legs, whom I adore to pieces and who has so patiently, nay, enthusiastically, gone along with all _my_ fandom stuff; who has been so adorkably clueless yet willing to learn about it that it came as a genuine surprise when he announced there was a show he wanted to introduce _me_ to.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen Firefly,” he tells me, approximately for the fifteenth time, as he pulls me into the basement TV room, where the giant screen is all set up for a binge watch, and where the soft leather couch beckons with general comfortableness and some very specific memories not conducive to my concentration on the binge-watching plan. “ _I_ _can’t believe you haven’t seen Firefly._ ”

“Yes, yes, I know. People keep reccing it to me and I keep not getting around to it. I haven’t seen Buffy yet either. Go ahead, make me walk naked through the town while you shout ‘Shame!’”

Bram snorts. “Nice try. Tempting as that image is, I know that’s a Game of Thrones reference and no, I’m still not interested. Too much gore and-“

“-too many boobs, yeah, I’ve heard it all. One day you’ll see the error of your ways.”

Bram makes a face and pulls me down on the couch beside him. “Maybe, but right now it’s your turn. We’re watching my thing for a change.”

“I know,” I say, but having him on the couch next to me is too much of a temptation, so when he reaches for the remote, I reach for his face, and then somehow it must’ve been ten minutes before we resurface. 

“You taste like Oreos,” Bram murmurs, deliberately licking along my lower lip. I shiver and smile into the kiss. 

“I may have… broken into the snack stash… while driving over here.” I gesture blindly towards the bags of chips and packs of Oreos (yes, one opened) I brought for our Firefly marathon.

Bram laughs softly, running his hands through my hair. “You have an addiction problem.”

“Quite possibly. However, until there is enough awareness for it to get an Oreo Addicts Anonymous group going, I’ll have to depend on my own support system,” I explain earnestly, “you know, to keep me grounded and distract me and stuff.” Bram seems so intent on proving that he is indeed extremely dedicated to and excellent at distracting me that another undefined amount of time passes before I lift my head, breathless, and say, “I thought we were going to watch Firebug.”

Bram gives me an incredibly wounded look. “You absolutely have not forgotten what it’s called.”

“I haven’t, no. I’m incredibly excited about my first exposure to Firebee,” I tell him earnestly, just to rile him up some more.

Bram glowers and firmly pushes me into the couch beside him, reaching for the remote. “I promise you will regret that.”

And before we’re halfway into the pilot, I do. By two eps in, I’m hooked. Three, and I’m hanging on the edge of the couch. Four makes me laugh and go “awwww” a lot, especially at Kaylee’s ridiculous giant pink ruffle dress. But when Zoë, the show’s resident badass and stunning warrior goddess, says, “If _I'm_ gonna wear a dress, I want something with some slink,” I say out loud, “Amen, sister!” 

Bram cocks a highly expressive brow at me. “You want a slinky dress?” he asks, echoing Wash on screen. “I can buy you a slinky dress.”

I just make a face and elbow him silently because I don’t want to miss any of the show, but I can’t really deny that that look on Bram’s face combined with the idea of slinky dresses is kinda… intriguing. 

Episode five makes me cry a little; eight makes me cry harder. By then it’s past 1 a.m. and Bram’s mom comes down to tell us we really need to stop, even if it’s a weekend. “Are you staying the night, Simon?”

I duck my head a little; I can’t help it, she always makes me nervous. She’s really lovely and she seems to like me but she has a way of _looking_ at me. Like, _“I know you’re having sex with my son and I want you to be a little uncomfortable about me knowing”_ kinda looks. “Uh, yeah, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling. “Just make sure you brush your teeth and maybe eat something other than Oreos for breakfast. Do you boys have everything you need?”

I can feel my cheeks go hot even though the question is perfectly innocuous; somehow she always makes it sound like she’s on the verge of giving you a lecture on the history of STDs or offer you extra stashes of condoms and dental dams. (It doesn’t help that Bram has confirmed she has actually done that in the past. An occupational hazard I really, really never want to be on the receiving end of.)

“Yes, mom,” Bram says hurriedly, dragging me up the stairs.

***

We’re too conscious of Bram’s mom sleeping two doors away to do more than make out a little, but too wired to go straight to sleep. Besides, there’s show talk to be had.

“So you like it?” Bram asks, threading his fingers through mine. It’s dark but I can hear the smile in his voice.

I splutter. “Dude, I love it! It’s so freaking good! How did this show get cancelled, _how_?”

I feel him shrugging beside me. “Stupid time slots, stupid network, stupendously stupid decisions.”

“Gaaaah. I can’t believe there’s only six eps and a movie left!”

“I _know_!” Bram says, with feeling, and for a bit we just lie there, pondering the unfairness of life, the universe, and stupid Fox executives.

Then Bram elbows me gently. “You’re just slashing everyone, aren’t you.”

“Well, duh. Have you met me?”

He laughs at that and pushes an arm under my nape, pulling me in towards him. “Tell me.”

I snuggle against his shoulder. “Generally, they’re really good with their canon pairings, actually, but Kaylee/Inara clearly needs to happen.”

“Mhmmm. Yeah.” He sounds perhaps a tad too dreamy about that but then again, the gayest guy in the universe would still get off on Inara. 

“And there’s something about Mal and the doc...”

“Uh huh.”

“…but also, Jayne and Simon obviously need to fuck.”

The warm air of his laugh puffs against the top of my head. “Obviously.”

“I mean, all that sexual tension. It’s ridiculous..”

“Uh huh. I can just hear you writing fanfic in your head.”

“I am not writing, and have never written, any fanfic whatsoever,” I assure him sincerely, which is not strictly untrue because a hidden folder titled “Fanfic ideas” on my laptop does not count and also he’s never going to see it. Probably.

We talk some more about the show, and somehow, eventually, we circle back to Kaylee’s giant ruffle dress, and Zoë talking about what kind of dress _she’d_ like to wear.

“I mean, those horrid ruffles were somehow cute as fuck but hell, can you imagine the kind of dress Zoë would come up with?” I muse, rubbing my cheek lightly against his shoulder in the dark. “It’d probably be something metallic. And shiny. And sexy.”

Bram says nothing for a bit, just idly strokes my hair. When he finally speaks, it seems like a non-sequitur at first. “You know that day you kept wearing your stage make-up after the play?” 

I smile at the memory. “Oh yeah. And you were… looking.” That should have been a clue at the time, of course, but I was too wrapped up in having it all wrong.

Bram moves in to mouth gently at my earlobe, sending a shiver down my neck. “Well, _duh_ ,” he mimics me. “You looked incredible.”

“Yeah? So were you, like, serious about getting me a slinky dress?” I ask it jokingly but my heart is suddenly going quite a bit faster.

Bram’s finger is drawing little circles on my upper arm. He’s quiet for what seems like a long time. Then, softly, he says, “If you wanted to wear it? Sure.”

I swallow, suddenly dry-mouthed. I don’t know what to say, or rather, I don’t know how to say what I might like to say.

“Simon?”

I hunt for words in the darkness. I wish there was some light.

As if he heard my thought, Bram suddenly lifts up on one elbow and reaches for his bedside table. Muted yellow light fills the darkness. I blink at him; the light is dim, but it’s sudden. Bram is frowning a little, leaning over me; his gaze is very intent on my face, and maybe just a little worried. Eventually, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Simon,” he says, a little hoarsely. “You know I’m not just humoring you, right? The fandom stuff, the dressing up, the roleplay… it’s all good with me. I like it. I more than like it. You know why?”

I shake my head, mutely.

“Because it’s _you_ ,” Bram says, cupping my cheek with one hand and gently stroking his thumb across my cheekbone. “Because you’re trusting me with stuff you love, stuff that is a part of you. I’m all in for that.” He swallows, Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in the mellow light. “You looked super-hot in your make-up. You’d look super-hot in a dress. If that’s something you’re into… I just want you to know I’d go for it in a heartbeat. Because it’s _you_. Because I’m seriously, ridiculously crazy about you.”

“I love you.” I didn’t plan to say it. It just comes out, like it’s inevitable. His eyes widen a little. I feel my cheeks go hot but I don’t look away. We haven’t said it before, not in so many words, because we didn’t need to, and this isn’t a rom-com. But for some reason, just now, it does need to be said, because he’s just literally unbelievable and how did I ever get so lucky?

Bram’s eyes go all soft and then he breathes in audibly, as if he had forgotten how. “I love you too.” He leans over me, all shiny-eyed and serious, although there’s a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. “Where did that come from?”

Sick of just lying here passively, I push myself up on my elbows up to kiss him. “Because you’re you,” I tell him, and if that’s just basically what he just told me, well excuse me for not being in the most eloquent place right now.

Bram seems to understand. He kisses me back, slow and deep, and it takes quite a while before we break apart. When we do, Bram cocks a brow at me, his eyes doing that wicked glinting thing I love. “So, about that dress…?”

I flop back with a sound that comes out half laughter, half mortified moan. “Yes, well – I like the make-up too, alright? And it’s not like I’ve ever thought about dresses, but if you think about it, it’s super-unfair that a guy can’t wear them without immediately getting weird looks and shit. It’s not like I wanna pretend I’m a girl or anything, but… I don’t know. I like the thought of a dress? Just to try it out? I mean, most of what we wear is just boring guy stuff, and dresses are so damn _pretty_.” I’m aware that I’m still being kinda evasive here and trying to make it sound like it’s no big deal, when actually the thought of slipping on something silky and strappy and pretty makes me feel… really fucking intrigued, actually. 

Bram is watching me babble. He’s not saying anything, but there’s a sort of heated spark deep in the stillness of his eyes that’s both making me nervous and turning me on. I blabber on to fill the silence.

“And, like, I liked what they do on the show. Having the Captain in a dress and bonnet like it ain’t no thing. Having the women doing the rescuing. Giving the manliest manly man a girl’s name. He reminds me of you a bit, actually – Jayne does. And no, not just because I ship him with the dude who has my name, and not with the brains, obviously, I mean you’re heaps smarter than him and I can’t see you with guns, but just his… presence, I guess? He’s all… reassuring. And funny. And the muscles. Apparently I have a thing for muscles, which is-”

“Simon?”

“Er, yeah?”

Bram is leaning close. It’s possible the heated spark is a little more pronounced now. 

“You coming over tomorrow to watch the rest of the show?”

“Can’t take the sky from me,” I assure him.

He nods. “Wear your make-up,” he tells me, and his voice has dropped to that dark and melty tone that gets me every time. I swallow.

“Okay… why?” I ask, although I have perhaps the smidgest of an inkling. 

He just smiles, sweet and wicked all at once. “Just wear your make-up, Simon.”

***

So, yeah – I kinda know what he’s up to. But when I come back to his place the next afternoon, I’m still nervous as fuck. At least his mom will be out today, so we have the house to ourselves.

Bram’s coming down the stairs when I get in, and when he sees me he comes to a dead stop and stares, which under the circumstances is pretty gratifying. I’m still not awesome at make-up application, and it took me an embarrassing number of tries and several YouTube tutorials to get it looking decent. Plus I have no idea what other shades besides gray might work, so I’ve just stuck to the colors Abby picked for the play – gray and silver, and a smoky eye sort of thing along the lid edge because I’ve found out I absolutely cannot do precise eyeliner. I’ve kept my glasses on, though, because I feel weirdly naked without them, but even so, I know the effect is pretty obvious. Especially since in a fit of daring, I’ve thrown on some pink lip gloss too.

It certainly is effective, to judge from Bram’s expression. I fight the urge to fidget, and smile up at him. “Hi.”

Instead of answering, Bram slowly walks down the last few steps. His eyes never stop devouring me. “Come on,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand and pulling me upstairs.

***

“Are you… is this it?”

“Uh huh.”

Slowly, I unfold what he’s handed me. It’s surprisingly heavy, rippling through my hands like water: a mid-length, silvery, glittery fabric with thin shoulder straps. The weight, I discover, is because of the sequins. They’re all over it, tiny and metallic gray, the whole thing shimmering as they catch the light. 

I lift my gaze to find Bram watching me, his cheeks flushed dark but his eyes and mouth warm with his mischievous smile. 

“Slinky enough?” he asks.

I let the material of the dress run through my fingers, feeling the weight of the sequins, the softness of the inner lining. It certainly is the slinkiest bit of clothing I’ve ever held. I nod, speechlessly.

“You wanna try it on?” Bram asks. Softly. Tentatively. When I nod again, perhaps a little over-eagerly, he bites his lip, then grins suddenly, thrusting out something else at me. “You’ll need something for underneath.”

The folded scrap of fabric he’s handing me is really no more than that – a scrap. I make an involuntary noise. It’s a pair of panties, black lace embroidered with swirly black flowers. It’s really really sheer.

I look up, cheeks flaming, to meet Bram’s eyes. “Dare you,” he says, still grinning, but there’s a softness in his eyes still that reassures me if I said right now I don’t want to, those panties would be gone in an instant (hopefully somewhere his mom would never find them).

But I do want to. Boy, do I ever.

I clear my throat and lift a brow. “You gonna watch?” It doesn’t come out nearly as much of a challenge as I want to, but it still works; visibly swallowing, Bram looks towards the door. “Should I…?”

“Turn your back, that’ll do,” I say roughly.

***

I strip quickly, dumping my clothes unceremoniously on the floor, then pull the dress over my head. It’s a little loose but I assume it’s meant to be. It ripples down my body, the hem settling just above my knees. I’m surprised how soft the inside is, all cool gray silk, pleasant and sleek against my heated skin. It has a low, cowl-type neckline, dipping well below my collar bones, perilously close to my nipples. The sequins lend some weight to the whole thing, making its movement slow and swishy against my thighs. I was half-convinced I’d feel silly but the thing is – I don’t. It feels unfamiliar but nice – soft silky fabric on the inside, a thousand tiny metallic plates on the outside, like armor but revealing so much skin. It feels good. It feels exciting.

Belatedly, I remember the panties. I hastily wriggle my way into them, pulling the lacy bit of nothing up my thighs, and if I wasn’t already half-hard at the sensation of that slinky silk, I’m certainly there now, as I tug the panties into place. They’re obviously not made for a dude so they’re tight but they’re so flimsy it’s not really uncomfortable. I wriggle and adjust as well as I can, and embroidered lace hugs me tight.

I must have made a noise at the sensation of that gauzy friction, because Bram says my name, sounding a bit worried. I’m too subsumed in these new sensations to respond immediately. Dropping the hem of the sequined dress back down, I move experimentally, letting the heavy fabric move against me, feeling the panties pull tightly across my hardening cock. Damn. I never had the tiniest inkling of how sexy fabric could feel.

A gasp breaks through my silk-dominated reverie. I look up to find Bram has turned around and is staring at me. His gaze keeps running up and down, missing nothing, from the thin straps over my shoulders down the swishing, constantly shifting metallic shimmer of the dress, to where I’m probably pretty obviously disrupting the line of the dress with my growing hard-on.

It’s weird being barefoot. It feels like I should be wearing heels, or like I should at least have shaved my legs, but I didn’t think that far. 

Bram is still staring. The silence mounts until I can’t take it anymore. “Bram? You like?”

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Bram breathes, with feeling. From a guy who so rarely swears, it’s a pretty ringing endorsement. I smile tentatively. 

Bram extends a hand to me. “Come here.”

It’s only a few steps but it’s like I’ve never walked so consciously before, aware of every shift and sway of the soft material against my body. It’s so completely different from anything I’ve ever worn, and the way it moves with me – responsive and intimate, like it’s caressing me with each step – is incredible. Besides, there’s the stretch of mesh between my legs, both airy and confining. I bite back a noise.

Then Bram’s hand circles my wrist, sliding loosely up and down my arm a few times. “How does it feel?”

I fight the urge to shift my legs just so I can feel the slight scrape of the panties. “A bit weird, but… also really good.” I hesitate. “How does it look?”

Instead of answering, Bram tugs at my hand and turns us both around, pulling me in front of him so I face the floor-length mirror on the outside of his closet. “See for yourself.”

My turn to stare. The boy in the mirror is not a stranger, but he is a version of myself I’ve never even imagined. The hair’s familiar – dark-blond, messy, sticking up every which way as usual – but everything else is subtly different. Behind my glasses, my eyes look wide and oddly dramatic, their gray accentuated by the silver eyeshadow and smoky outline. And below that… the dress sparkles and shifts with the tiniest movement, both hugging and concealing my body. My shoulders and collar bones look weirdly pronounced against the thin straps, my skin very pale against the dark metallic gray. I might have expected to look more – I don’t know, ambiguous, I guess. But somehow the shimmery material makes me look decidedly masculine, in a way that’s unfamiliar but not unappealing. There’s no doubt I’m looking at a guy wearing a dress, not least because by now I’m noticeably tenting it, but it’s also like the dress is making me look at every boy’s feature in my boy’s body and consider it in a new and exciting context. 

Bram moves behind me, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me back against his body. Something about the contrast is doing things to me – him in his oldest, butter-soft jeans and a washed-out black t-shirt, me in this slinky thing; his lovely, knobbly hands against the shimmery sequins over my hip bones; his warm brown skin against my bony, pale shoulders. We look good together. More than good – hot. I lean back into him and can’t help making a pleased noise when I feel that he’s hard in his jeans. I squirm against him a bit, fascinated by the constant shifting of the dress’s material in the mirror. His hands tighten on my hips and I meet his gaze in the mirror.

 

“You like it,” I say. It’s not a question.

Bram simply nods, pressing up against me. He has his palms cupped over my hipbones but his fingers are restless, moving furtively, pushing the silky fabric towards my groin until I have to fight not to move. 

He turns his head slightly, nuzzling against my neck without breaking eye contact in the mirror. “You look incredible,” he murmurs. “All gray and silver. Like…”

“A foil-wrapped microwave dinner?” I supply helpfully when he struggles for words. 

He huffs warm laughter against my neck. “No, idiot. Like some kind of sexy space fairy.”

I laugh and squirm as he nibbles a line of kisses down my neck. “Hmm-kay. I guess there’s worse things?”

“If you seriously expect me to be eloquent right now,” Bram grumbles, pushing his hips forward, “you’re insane.” My breath hitches when I feel his mouth against the strap of my dress, warm breath, a hint of wet tongue. He feels very, _very_ hard against my backside and I’m super-conscious of how easy it would be to just lift the hem of my dress and feel more of him. Fuck. So accessible.

I let my head drop back against his shoulder. “Bram…”

He cuts me off by tilting my head to meet his mouth, his lips hot and hungry against mine. I kiss back eagerly, grateful for the solid wall of his body holding me up. He’s now got one arm wrapped across my collar bones, the other lightly circling my hips. His fingers are moving against my hip, my abdomen, still shifting the bunched material of the dress towards where I’m hard and straining. The lacy nothing of the panties now feels impossibly constricting; as I keep getting harder, I feel like any moment now I’m either going to rip right through them or burst over the top seam like some ridiculous jack in a box. 

I lose time as we kiss. Kissing Bram has always been kind of like I imagine taking drugs might feel like, without any of the bad side effects – feeling intensely aware of him and me and the textures and sensations between our mouths and bodies while at the same time feeling floaty, untethered, utterly free.

But not lost. Bram is holding me tightly against him as we kiss, and I moan into his mouth when his hand finally moves down, cupping me firmly. It feels strange through the triple layers of sequins, lining, and panties: I can feel the heat of his grip but I long for skin, for the familiar tight grasp of his palm and fingers. As I thrust my hips lightly, I finally feel it happen: straining against the tight confines, my dick pushes over the top of the panties, against the softer silk lining of the dress. I moan and buck, so desperate for Bram to touch me. His hand dips down, skimming along the seam of the dress, hot fingers brushing the exposed skin of my thighs. Lingering there, infuriatingly, not moving higher. I never knew my thighs were this sensitive.

“Simon,” he says, between kisses, rubbing against me more urgently, “God, Simon… what do you want?”

I want… fuck, I don’t even know. I want to stay covered, because I am fucking _loving_ the dual sensations of slightly scratchy lace and soft silk on my throbbing dick. But I also want him to tear them out of the way and touch me, jerk me hard, or fuck me right up against the mirror so I can watch us both come. I want to keep kissing him, and I want his mouth on me, and mine on him. There’s too many choices. I want…

“Pants off,” I gasp, pushing back against him. “Get it out.”

He bites me on the neck, just lightly, and fumbles urgently at his waist. A moment later he thrusts forward and tightens his grip on my bare thigh, pulling me back against him. I groan loudly. The dress, which felt so delicate a minute ago, is now frustratingly solid, the sequins keeping me from feeling him properly. They must be scratchy as well, against bare skin, but Bram doesn’t complain. Instead, he finally slides his hand up between my thighs, pushing the seam of the dress up as he goes. My eyes are glued to the motion of his hand in the mirror. There’s something so hot about both feeling it and watching as it happens: the heat of his skin against mine, the sight of his hand against my gradually exposed thighs. When it finally moves high enough to skim over the stretched panties, I can’t help whimpering. I feel so constricted in the tight material that is squashing my balls and the base of my dick together that it’s almost painful, but the friction also feels incredibly good, and when you add the warm weight of Bram’s hand to it, my knees go wobbly and I have to lean back into him again. Then his hand finds the exposed end of my dick poking out over the top of the panties, and I moan with pleasure at the sudden touch of skin on skin. He holds me tight while he rubs his thumb over the head of my cock and it feels so good I want to shout. 

“Bram. Yes. Oh god.”

“You like that?” he murmurs, working his thumb in a rough circle over the head, rubbing the slit where I’m so wet it feels like I’m coming already. “Simon? Tell me.”

“Yes. Fuck. Don’t stop.” I’m humping shamelessly against him, my head still dropped back against his shoulder.

He mouths along the exposed tendons of my neck, nipping lightly. “Look in the mirror.”

“Nghhnnn.” It’s hard enough work just to stay upright, I think, even though he’s doing most of the balancing. Opening my eyes seems like a lot to ask.

But he insists. “Simon.” His grip tightens over my cock, making me whimper. “Look.”

I force my eyes open, lifting my neck. The boy in the mirror looks wanton and desperate, a flush high in my cheekbones that goes well with the sparkle of my eyeshadow. One strap of my dress has slipped down my shoulder, exposing a hard, rosy nipple, and my legs are slightly spread to accommodate Bram’s hand. I look totally shameless, but also kind of… pretty.

I groan at the sight of his clever fingers grasping my cock, which looks flushed and hard enough to tear the stretched black lace still encasing its lower half. His thumb is constantly moving; I can see wetness smearing in the wake of his fingers, most of my cock exposed and pink. I can barely see my balls under the embroidered lace, but I can feel how swollen and tender they are, the sensitive skin rubbing against the gauzy fabric with every tiny shift.

Bram mutters something under his breath and suddenly tugs me back and down. I utter an alarmed yelp as I lose my balance but a second later I realize he’s just dropped down onto the edge of his bed, pulling me down into his lap, still facing the mirror. His hands are pushing the hem of the dress up past my thighs, past my buttocks. With a pleased sigh, I sink down against him, enjoying the sudden contact of his hard dick against my lace-sheathed crease. He swears softly and adjusts himself with his hand until he’s pushing against the underside instead, pressing hot and hard against my aching balls. 

He’s leaning back on the bed so I can’t see him in the mirror anymore. I’m moving clumsily up and down, pressing and rubbing against him, rolling my hips to get the most friction. His hand is still on me, teasing and rubbing, but suddenly it’s not enough. It’s not enough to see myself, even intriguingly rumpled and silver-eyed and moving in shimmery, rippling silk, sexy in a way I didn’t think I could be; I need to see _him_. I lift off briefly and swing myself around so I’m straddling him face to face. 

Bram stares up at me, flushed and heavy-lidded. His mouth is slightly open and completely irresistible. I lean down to meet his full, gasping lips, sliding my tongue in between. He sits up abruptly and presses me back while wrapping a supportive arm around my back. We’re kissing messily, making small noises. His hands are all over me, smoothing over the shimmery lines of the dress, palming warmly wherever they meet bare skin. My hips are pressing down right on his dick – he’s still not even pushed his jeans down but there’s something incredibly sexy about being in this easily accessible nothing of a dress while he’s still mostly dressed, just his hard cock poking out of his unzipped jeans, rubbing right against the sheer fabric of my panties. I dig my hands into his wide shoulders and move against him, barely lifting off because I can’t bear the loss of contact, just humping in place. 

One strap of my dress is still hanging off my shoulder, slipping further down with every motion. Bram tears his mouth away from mine to follow the line of it down over my shoulder, my collar bones, my chest. When his lips close on my nipple, I moan, urging him on. It feels so good – the silky edge of the dress against my bare skin and just above it, Bram’s mouth working the sensitive nub, licking and sucking until I think I could come just from that. 

“Bram, fuck, yeah,” I gasp, hardly knowing what I’m saying as I ride against him, pushing down hard. “Oh god, please, can we… I need to feel you.” I grope blindly, dragging the gathered fabric of the lace panties to one side and suddenly I’m gloriously free, splay-legged over Bram’s hard, muscled thighs. His cock is pushing between my legs, against my aching balls, and it feels so good I make a sound that comes out almost like a sob. “Yeah, God. Right there.” 

I can feel the hum of his own groan against my nipple as he’s still sucking on it, swirling his tongue around. His hips push up against mine and I move to meet him, loving the feel of his hard dick sliding up between my cheeks. He’s rubbing _everywhere_ and when he catches against the sensitive rim of my hole I briefly consider having him fuck me like this. But it feels too good right as it is and the logistics of stopping long enough to scramble for lube and a condom and taking the time to prep is too much. Instead, I throw back my head so he has better access to my nipple and rut against him as hard as I can, reaching back to trap his bare dick inside the lace still cupping my ass. He’s breathing hard against my chest and I work my buttocks, pushing down hard against his length. He’s leaking a lot and the thin tissue is all wet and slick as it slides over us both. I clench my cheeks around him and he fucks up against me, one hand splayed supportively in the middle of my back, the other pumping my dick, warm and tight, his thumb working the head just the way I love it. 

“Simon.” His voice is hoarse and lovely, absolutely desperate, as he pulls his mouth from my throbbing nipple up my collar bones and neck. “Simon. Fuck. Kiss me.”

Our lips meet, gasping and wet. I’m clinging to his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. My hips are moving like they’re on autopilot, practically slamming up and down into the tight grip of his hand and the wet, throbbing sensation of his cock thrusting against my ass, encased in slippery silk.

He slides his tongue deep into my mouth as if he’s fucking me and his hand tightens at the same time. It’s too much. I come with a muffled shout, humping desperately, and only seconds later, I feel warm wetness as he spurts against me, coating my balls and cleft and the flimsy mesh of the panties in thick streaks of come. Still spasming myself, I roll my hips to feel all of it, to feel his cock twitching while he empties himself. The tensing of his muscles against me as he comes makes me shoot a couple more times, slick and hot, spilling slowly against his stomach.

I slump forward on top of him, suddenly entirely boneless. Bram catches me as he drops onto his back, his arms tight across my shoulders. The dress has slipped halfway down my chest and the bottom seam is bunched up around my waist. The gathered sequins must be rough against his skin. I lift my head, blindly seeking his mouth. It’s not so much kissing as messily breathing each other in as we gasp for air. The remaining dress strap pulls against my biceps as I wriggle against Bram, and suddenly the constant motion and friction of sequins and lace and silk is too much. I want bare skin. I wriggle gracelessly out of the dress and panties while nudging at Bram’s rucked-up t-shirt. “Off.”

He obliges me, and a few moments later we’re lying naked together, sticky and breathless but wonderfully uninhibited by fabric. I move my leg lazily against his. “Wow.”

“Mhmmm,” Bram agrees. His eyes are closed, his lashes long and thick against the top of his cheekbones, which are dusted with barely visible freckles. There’s a smile lingering in the corner of his full lips, which shimmer a bit with the lip gloss he kissed off my mouth. He’s so beautiful it makes my heart ache a little. I nuzzle against his soft throat.

“So, dresses: yea or nay?” he mumbles, eyes still closed.

I snort into the dip where his neck meets his shoulder. “Yea, definitely. Sometimes. But…”

“But?” His lids flicker open, his warm brown eyes focusing on me. 

I gesture floppily towards the slinky puddle of the silver dress. “But I don’t know if the come stains will come out.”

He laughs breathlessly, running his hands through my messy hair, then down the sides of my face, cupping my cheeks. “Worth it, don’t you think?”

“Mhm, yeah. Deffo.” I lean in close. Time disappears into a series of slow, long, languid kisses.

Eventually, Bram reluctantly pulls away. “I thought we were gonna watch Firebug,” he murmurs in my ear.

I sit back and glare at him. “How _dare_ you mock its name!”

He cackles, threading his fingers into mine. 

“This was all your gorram show’s fault, anyway,” I accuse him, resisting the urge to drop right back on top of him. 

Bram grins at me, utterly unrepentant. “You’re using the slang already? Before long you’ll be swearing in Chinese.”

I nod. “Watch this space.”

I kiss him, but only for a bit longer. We do have a show to finish, after all.


End file.
